


I'll Be Home for Christmas

by erriikaa



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Christmas Fluff, First Kiss, Idiots in Love, Keith doesn't know how to Christmas, Klancemas 2019, Lance's patience is running thin, M/M, Mistletoe, Mutual Pining, Pining, klance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2019-12-27
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:14:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21977179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erriikaa/pseuds/erriikaa
Summary: Keith finds himself unceremoniously plopped into the McClain household kitchen on Christmas Eve, sugar cookie in one hand, tub of icing in the other because, apparently,‘Santa won’t come unless you bake him fresh Christmas cookies,Keith.’It’s loud. It’s wild. It’s a lot to digest and Keith is sure it’s going to be even crazier tomorrow—what, with all the gift giving, and Christmas caroling, and eggnog drinking.But… for some reason, he doesn’t think he’ll mind.Or, a mini Klance Christmas montage where two pining idiots slowly come to terms with their feelings for each other and Keithfinallygets to have a happy Christmas for the first time in years.
Relationships: Keith & Lance (Voltron), Keith/Lance (Voltron), background Acxa/Veronica (Voltron)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 151





	I'll Be Home for Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> All I wanna say is that I fully support Veronica being a little shit to Lance about his crush on Keith, _BUT_ I even more so support Veronica being equally as much of a shit to Keith for the same reasons. Sibling or not, she doesn't give a fuck. They're both equally susceptible to sisterly torment. 
> 
> Anyways, I hope you enjoy this little pining Klance Christmas fluff! Happy Klancemas everyone!

_“You don’t have a Christmas tree?!?”_

Keith flinches at the sudden outburst. To say he wasn’t expecting _that_ reaction is an understatement. They hadn’t even stepped more than a few feet inside the little shack before Lance froze in his tracks, gawking. 

Keith shifts his feet, feeling exposed under Lance’s scrutiny. “Uhhh, no? Is… that a bad thing?”

Lance blinks for a moment, expression morphing from disbelief to baffled outrage. _“YES!!”_ He throws his arms up in the air, waving them around wildly. 

Under normal circumstances Keith would jump on the opportunity to tell Lance he looks like an idiot doing that, but at the moment he’s too hung up on one thing he doesn’t understand— “Why?”

“ _Because,_ Keith,” he says like that’s all the explanation in the world. “It’s Christmas! You need a Christmas tree on Christmas!”

“But it’s not Christmas yet.”

“Keith, Christmas is literally three days away—”

“Right, so it’s not Christmas.”

“Same difference! Everyone else in the world got their Christmas tree, like, _three weeks ago_. The fact that you don’t have one yet is just plain shameful.” He pauses, placing his hands on his hips and leveling Keith with a disapproving glare. “Were you _ever_ planning on getting one?”

Keith withers under the intensity of Lance’s stare. “...Yes?” 

Lance is unamused. 

Keith sighs. “No.”

Lance rolls his eyes, letting out a long suffering sigh. He points an accusatory finger at Keith’s chest. “Y’know, I always knew you were a heathen, but this is a whole new level of low for you.” 

Keith huffs, crossing his arms over his chest. “I just don’t see the point.”

Lance blanches, leaning back and placing a hand on his chest as if Keith had just personally offended him. “Don’t see the—” He shakes his head as he lowers his hand, grabbing Keith’s wrist and unceremoniously dragging him out the door. “We’re fixing this right now. You, sir, need to be enlightened.”

“What do you mean we’re fixing this. Where are we going?” Keith puts up resistance, pulling back on Lance’s hand, but shuffles his feet along nonetheless. It’s a half-assed attempt, and he knows it. 

“We’re getting you a Christmas tree, duh! Sheesh, Mullet, pay attention.”

Lance unlocks his car and practically _throws_ Keith into the passenger seat. Keith grumbles but puts his seat belt on anyway as Lance swings around to the other side of the car. 

“Don’t I get any say in this, Lance? What if I don’t _want_ a Christmas tree?” 

If he’s being honest, he doesn’t really care either way, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t going to put up a fight about it. It’s the principle. He’s already come this far. 

“Too bad,” Lance practically sings. 

Before Keith can get another word in, Lance shoves the key into the ignition and revs the engine to life. He throws the car into drive and rolls out towards the suburbs. 

Keith has no idea where the lunatic is taking him. Would they even be able to _find_ a Christmas tree this late in the game? 

It’s all just not even worth the hassle to Keith. That’s part of the reason why he never got a tree in the first place. Why go through all the trouble for no good reason?

It’s not like Keith has anyone to impress. He _barely_ has company over, with the exception of occasionally Lance or Shiro, and _maybe_ Krolia. Most of the time though, he goes to visit his friends at their places, and his mom spends the majority of her time in space with Kolivan. Keith visits them all in their own places often enough. It just doesn’t make sense for him to host. It’s not like his little ratty shack is a great place for it. Sure, it’s simple and cozy, and _he_ feels right at home there, but there’s not exactly a lot of room for company. And, _yeah,_ he _could_ just get a bigger, newer place, but this shack has been his home for practically his whole life. It holds so many memories of his dad… he’s not ready to let that go just yet.

So, yeah, he’s _fine_ with just himself in his little shack. And with just himself there, why would there be any need to decorate? 

He can’t be bothered to haul a Christmas tree all the way out to the desert just so it can—what? Take up half the living room space? The place is tiny enough as it is. And then what would he even _do_ with it? Stare at it by himself? Yeah, that sounds like a lot of fun. And don’t even get him started on the _cleanup_. He’d be sweeping up pine needles for _weeks_. Cleaning is enough of a pain in the ass as it is, he doesn’t need to make it _worse_.

So, yeah, he may not _really_ care all that much, but he stands by what he said earlier. He doesn’t see the point. 

By some miracle—or maybe curse from Keith’s perspective—Lance manages to find a Christmas tree farm that has at least a handful of semi-decent trees left. It may have taken them four different tree farms, two and a half total hours of searching, and a _lot_ of complaining on Keith’s part, but hey, they got there. 

Keith takes one, hard look at the selection of trees in front of him. “ _This_ is the best we can do?”

Lance sidles up beside him. “What’s that, Keithy boy? That almost sounded like negativity coming from your mouth.”

“It was.”

Lance tisks his tongue softly, shaking his head. “Nuh, uh. Not on my watch.” He gives the grove a quick once over, a decisive nod, and promptly slings his arm around Keith’s shoulders. “Positive attitudes _only_.” He emphasises the last word with a sharp poke to Keith’s cheek. 

Keith swats Lance’s hand away and mindlessly rubs at the spot on his cheek. He huffs, crossing his arms over his chest. “But this is just a waste of time! This is the best selection we’ve seen all day and none of them are even _good.”_

Keith weakly kicks a pebble with his foot and watches it scurry away. He just doesn’t get why they’re still _here._ They’ve been searching for _hours,_ and for what? They clearly aren’t going to find a good tree anywhere. This whole mission is proving to be useless, and he just doesn’t _get it._

“Hey,” Lance’s voice is suddenly close. His tone is soft in Keith’s ear. “Do you trust me?”

And isn’t _that_ a loaded question. 

Lance gives Keith’s shoulders a gentle squeeze and Keith finds himself melting into Lance’s side. He tries not to dwell on that too much. 

Keith’s face softens of its own accord and he lets out a breath. After all they’ve been through together— “You know I do.”

The smile that Keith receives in response is absolutely _blinding_. “Then c’mon, Keithy boy!” Lance gives him a quick wink before tugging him forward. “The trees await!”

Keith ducks his chin into his scarf, a feeble attempt to hide the heat that he can feel creeping up his neck. He finds that happening a lot more often around Lance these days than he’d like to admit. It’s absolutely infuriating. 

With effort, he schools his expression into something carefully indifferent, hoping that Lance will chalk up any reddening of his cheeks to the cold air whipping at their faces. 

Lance gives Keith’s shoulders a small shake. “Aw, c’mon Keith, this is fun, and _heaven forbid_ you have a little fun for once in your emo life.” He pokes Keith’s side with his free hand before waving it around animatedly. “You see, it’s all part of getting into the Christmas spirit! You’re a little late, but better late than never. Plus, the only trees left are the shitty, cheap ones, so at least you’ll be getting a tree for a great price!” 

Always the optimist. Why does Keith like this idiot again? 

Not that Keith _likes_ him. 

He just… finds him attractive that’s all. There’s nothing wrong with that. Lance is his _friend,_ and Keith isn’t blind. It’s totally normal to admit that his friend is attractive. Not to mention nice, funny, smart, caring, loyal—but that’s besides the point. None of that really _matters_ because it’s not a _crush_ and he _doesn’t_ like Lance. 

“What about this one?” Lance pulls away from him and makes a beeline for one of the trees. He crosses an arm over his middle and taps his free hand to his chin. His bottom lip sticks out in a small concentrated pout as he eyes every inch of the tree in assessment. Keith isn’t sure if Lance is even aware he’s doing it. 

It _really_ has no business being that cute.

Keith pulls his gaze over to the tree next to Lance, and—well, it’s… something. “Lance, that tree is shorter than _me._ ”

“So?” He spins around to face Keith. “It’s a handsome tree! Don’t discriminate just because he’s short, _Keith.”_

Try as he might, Keith can’t stop the amused smirk that creeps its way across his face. “He?”

But Lance isn’t listening to him anymore. He’s bent over the little thing, wrapping his arms around it awkwardly. “There, there, little tree. Don’t listen to him. You’re perfect no matter how small you are.”

Keith tries to fight down his laughter. He really does. But it comes escaping out of his mouth anyways. He covers a hand over his mouth to block his smile, but his shoulders are shaking all the same. 

Lance glances up at the sound and his own smile brightens in response. He throws a hand to his forehead, tilting his head back with the motion. “Oh, gorgeous tree. Do not fret, for I see the true beauty that lies within you! You’re breathtaking just the way you are.”

“It’s lopsided!” Keith manages to get out through his laughter.

“Oh, no one asked you, _Keith.”_ Lance sticks his tongue out.

“ _You_ asked me!”

Lance waves a hand around aimlessly. “Technicalities.” 

He unwraps himself from the tree and saunters back over to Keith’s side. “Well, _fine_ then, Mr. Tree Hater.” He bumps Keith lightly with his shoulder. “You pick one out.” 

Keith rolls his eyes, but his smile hasn’t quite left his face. “Fine,” he grumbles, though it comes out gentler than he hoped it would. 

He brushes past Lance to inspect the other nearby trees. Out of his peripheral vision he vaguely notices Lance stealing one last glance at the tree. He shrugs his shoulders weakly as he walks backwards away from it. “Sorry, little buddy. I gave it my best shot, but I can’t help it if Keith’s a sour, emo grinch.”

Keith pauses, one eyebrow lifting as he studies a new tree in front of him. “Grinch? What’s that, some kind of weird Altean insult or something?”

A beat passes. Then two. Then three. And… okay, it’s definitely not normal for Lance to be silent for this long. He turns around to find Lance a few feet behind him, just… standing there staring at him. 

“Lance?” 

A few more seconds pass and Keith swears he can see the progress bar hovering over Lance’s head. It _ever so slowly_ makes it way to 100%, and then Lance shuts his eyes. He places his hands together in front of his mouth. “Please, for the love of Alfor.” He takes in a long deep breath and points his hands sharply at Keith with the release, leveling him with an unamused glare. “Say you’re joking right now.”

Keith drags a hand down his face, groaning and mentally _pleading_ with anything that’ll listen to just _spare him._ “What’d I do _now?”_

“What you’re telling me is that…” He blinks a few times, looking around as he visibly attempts to Process™. “ _YOU’VE NEVER SEEN THE GRINCH?”_

Keith’s eyebrows scrunch. “Seen it? What, is it like a TV show or—”

“No, no, no—wait, hold on—backup here for a second… not only have you never seen it, but you’ve never even _heard_ of it? Like never at all, you have no idea who the Grinch is?”

“Uh, I mean—”

“Nope. No, no, no, this needs to be taken care of _stat!_ As in asap, pronto, immediately!” Lance surges forward, grabbing Keith’s wrist and _stomping_ over to the next patch of trees, dragging a very startled and confused Keith behind him. “Hurry the fuck up, buttercup. We’ve got a tree to decorate, a movie to watch, and we are burning precious daylight! Divide and conquer. Every man for themselves. C’mon, Keith, I need to see you hustle! We’ve got serious work to do.”

He drops Keith’s wrist and instantly takes off, scanning every tree for half a second before moving onto the next. He hasn’t stopped rambling, though Keith is only listening with half an ear. He thinks he catches something about a mullet and an anti-Christmas demon, and a few more colorful phrases in Spanish that he half remembers from school. 

Keith rolls his eyes, wondering how in the world he got wrapped up in all this. 

It’s with a fluttering stomach and a warmth in his chest that he realizes, despite the drama of it all, he actually kind of enjoys Lance’s antics. 

Not that he’ll ever tell Lance that. 

He makes his way around the little grove, taking far more time to inspect each tree than Lance had. He’s on the fourth tree when he comes to terms with the fact that he won’t be leaving with an even remotely pretty tree. _Every_ tree here is ugly and small, so he might as well just pick one. It’ll only be at his place for a few days anyways. 

“Hey, Lance! What about this one?”

Lance appears from around the corner and immediately makes his way over to the tree in question. He studies the tree with a critical glint in his eye for all of two seconds before leveling Keith with an unamused glare. “Keith, are you serious?”

Keith huffs and crosses his arms over his chest. “Yes, I’m serious. I want this one.”

Lance takes a moment to drag a slow hand down his face. “Keith, why on Earth would you want this one? This is literally the worst tree in the _entire_ place.”

“Weren’t _you_ just saying not to discriminate against the trees. This one is beautiful too.”

“Oh my _god,_ Keith.” He tries to sound exasperated, but Keith can hear the amusement leaking through. “It has just about everything wrong with it that could possibly go wrong with a tree.”

And… okay, _yeah,_ he can kind of see that _now._ But so what? 

Sure, it’s the shortest tree in the place, and _yeah_ it’s mostly deformed. A good chunk of the branches are broken off in one section and it looks more of a sickly yellow color than green really. 

But y’know what? It’s got character. And more importantly, they’ve been searching for a tree _all day_ and are _still_ empty handed. Keith is cold, and tired, and he would literally give Lance his left kidney just to pick something so they can _leave already_. 

Lance rolls his eyes, a teasing smile widening across his lips. “You really are useless, huh?”

Keith’s frown deepens. He’s about… sixty percent sure he’s not pouting. Maybe fifty. Forty? 

Whatever. 

Lance shakes his head lightly, soft smile firmly in place and cheeks dusted with pink, probably from the cold. His eyes crinkle with amusement, and Keith can tell Lance is fighting back a laugh. 

What. _Ever_. 

“I’m not _that_ useless,” Keith grumbles.

Lance hums. “Keep telling yourself that, Mullet.” 

He turns on his heel, picking up his search again. He claps his hands twice loudly. “Chop, chop, Keithy! Try to find an actually _decent_ tree this time.” And with that he’s gone, disappeared around the corner from which he came. 

Keith rolls his eyes, but continues searching all the same. Maybe if he actually puts some effort into this then they can leave sometime before he’s old and gray. 

He’s inspecting the base of a somewhat decent-looking tree when he hears the shriek. Short and loud and _Jesus_ how does someone even make a sound that high-pitched? 

He turns in the direction of the outburst right as a body unceremoniously slams into him. He topples over in a flurry of limbs, a lanky body crumpling on top of him. 

He tenses with the fall, and… yeah, that’s going to leave a bruise in the morning. 

After a moment, he lets his limbs go lax and huffs out a breath of air. It’s then that he realizes there’s still a body sprawled out on top of him, grumbling protests of pain. It takes him less than half a second to identify that the body belongs to Lance, and wastes no time leveling him with a glare. 

Lance pokes and prods until he’s propped himself up on his elbows. His face hovers directly above Keith’s. 

He’s close. 

_Wayyyy_ too close. 

Keith is far too aware of every limb that presses up against him, and he _really_ doesn’t want to think too much about what that might mean. He’s sure Lance can feel his heart pounding underneath him. 

Lance meets his eyes, and Keith can _feel_ the moment Lance’s whole body freezes. His eyes noticeably widen and his lips part ever so slightly. Keith can just barely feel the soft tufts of Lance’s breath fanning out against his lips, and— 

_Nope._ No, no, no. Back the fuck up. Abort mission. Sirens wail in the back of his mind. He is crossing far too deep into dangerous territory. He needs to get out. 

“Lance, what the _fuck?”_ He’s relieved when his voice doesn’t waver. 

Lance blinks twice. Shakes his head a few times. Then his expression melts into the brightest fucking smile Keith has ever seen. 

_“KEITH!!!”_

“Jesus, _fuck,_ Lance.” Keith winces. “I’m _right here_.”

“Keith, I found it! I fucking found it!” He’s scrambling for purchase, elbowing and kneeing Keith, much to Keith’s dismay, as he hastily gets to his feet. “I found your Christmas tree!”

And honestly, that smile has no business being that goddamn adorable. It’s doing things to Keith that he _really_ doesn’t want to acknowledge. 

Maybe if he just lays here the snow will pile up and bury him. Surely it wouldn’t be so bad. He could get used to the cold, live out the rest of his days as a snowman. Maybe he could befriend Frosty. He seems like a nice guy—

“Come _on_ , Keith, get _up!”_ He tugs at Keith’s wrist, grunting as Keith provides no support whatsoever. “You lazy _ass._ You’re so heavy, what the fuck. Lay off the Christmas cookies, dude.”

“Ouch.” 

Keith lets him struggle a few more seconds before planting his feet on the ground to stand up. He’s hardly upright for half a second before Lance is pulling him forward and around the corner. He makes a beeline for one of the taller trees, coming to an abrupt stop right in front of it. 

“Look! This is it! It’s perfect! You _have_ to get this one. I’ve already grown fond of it. I’m imagining it in your living room and I’m telling you it’s a perfect fit. We’re going to make so many memories—”

Keith just watches as Lance rambles on, prodding at the tree here and there, pointing out all it’s redeeming qualities. He’s shaking it as he’s practically vibrating with excitement. 

It’s far too cute and far too unfair. 

When Keith really takes a good look at the tree, he finds that it’s honestly… nothing special. None of the trees here are. He knows that. This one’s got some issues just like all the others do. He isn’t so sure this particular tree is any better than the one next to it... but he finds that he really doesn’t care. 

None of that matters because he can’t imagine himself taking home any _other_ tree. Not with the way Lance is smiling that blinding smile. The way he’s bouncing up and down like a little kid, excitement radiating off him in waves. This is the only tree Keith has eyes for now.

Yeah. Maybe he wasn’t _thrilled_ about the idea of getting a Christmas tree.

But he doesn’t think he’ll mind this one.

* * *

It turns out no matter how small a Christmas tree is, it’s still a royal pain in the ass to transport. 

You’d think it would be easy— being half the size of a normal tree and all— but no. Lance found that out the hard way when he got a faceful of pine needles and a doorknob jabbed into his side as they wrestled the ugly thing into Keith’s home. 

Looking at it now though, in all it’s tiny glory, Lance would say that the reward was worth the sacrifice. It fits nicely in the small corner of Keith’s living room and has no issues standing comfortably underneath the low ceiling. 

Sure, it may not look like much now. But once it’s decorated… oh, _baby_. It’s going to brighten this place right the fuck up. 

Speaking of decorations…

“ _Keith!”_

He startles at the sink, nearly dousing himself from the water pitcher he’s filling. “Jesus, _fuck,_ Lance. Stop _doing_ that.”

Lance waves a lazy hand in the air. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever, _grandpa.”_

Keith pouts as he leaves the kitchen, squinting his eyes at Lance when he passes by. He grumbles something incoherent as he makes his way over to the tree and crouches at its base. 

“ _Anyways,_ the tree looks fantastic, if I do say so myself.” Lance rubs his fingernails against his shirt, smug grin firmly in place. He barely catches Keith’s soft snort before it’s drowned out by the splashing of water as he pours the pitcher’s water into the tree stand. “ _But,_ we need to decorate it now.”

Keith stands and pads back into the kitchen, dumping the empty pitcher into the sink. He busies himself with cleaning up the sink area, and when it becomes apparent that he isn’t going to give a response, Lance huffs and prompts him again. “ _Keeeeith,_ c’mon. Where are your Christmas tree decorations?”

After a few agonizing moments, Keith walks back into the living room, mindlessly using his pants to wipe the water off his hands. “Decorations?”

Lance rolls his eyes. “Yes, Keith. Decorations. Y’know, the things you _decorate a Christmas tree with.”_

Keith pauses, eyebrows pinching like he’d never even considered decorations would be a part of this process. 

Lance is two thousand percent Done™ with this boy.

“A tree isn’t a Christmas tree unless it has decorations, _Keith_. I know you aren’t exactly the most festive person out there, but _please_ tell me you at least have decorations. Because if you don’t, I swear to—”

“No, no, no,” Keith cuts him off hastily. “Don’t worry, I have decorations. Lights and ornaments and stuff. I just—” He slowly turns around himself, eyes scanning the place every which way. “I just don’t remember...” 

His mouth falls into a contemplative pout, and it _really_ shouldn’t be as cute as it is. He scans the living room, gaze sweeping into the kitchen briefly before doubling back. His eyes lock on a cluttered shelf against the living room wall, loaded with boxes and half covered by a dusty tarp. He makes a beeline for the shelf and quickly sifts through the junk before shuffling over to the sofa, large box hoisted in his arms. 

Lance is at his side in a heartbeat, immediately snatching the string of lights that sit in a tangled heap on top of the box. He gives them a slow once over, nodding appreciatively. 

Yup. These’ll do. 

He carries them over to the nearest outlet to test them out. Keith may be a Christmas heathen, but Lance sure as hell isn’t. When the string of lights brightens up, save for a few stray bulbs, Lance gets to work untangling the mess and wrestling them around the tree. 

“Wow, Mullet, you _actually_ have some functional Christmas decorations. Color me surprised. Maybe you aren’t a _total_ Christmas heathen after all. Only like… mostly.”

“ _Ha ha,_ you’re hilarious,” Keith deadpans as he digs his arms into the box of ornaments. 

With the lights lit and wrapped expertly around the tree, Lance takes a step back to admire his work. “Oh yeah, baby. That’s how it’s done. Take notes from the master, Keith—” 

His words die on his tongue the moment he turns around. 

Keith is sitting on the sofa, hands hovering over the open box. He sits there, exactly the way Lance expected to find him, only something is… off. Something in the air about him. Something’s shifted. 

It’s subtle. So subtle that he doubts anyone else— save for maybe Shiro— would’ve picked up on it. But Lance notices it immediately. 

It’s in the way he holds himself, stiff on the edge of the sofa and hunched in on himself. Vulnerable. It’s in the way he gently picks up an ornament, delicately turning it over and over in his hands. It’s in the way his eyes glisten in the light, wholly and truly unguarded. It’s in the soft smile that adorns his face, all fond and… almost reflective? Reminiscent. 

He looks entranced, completely frozen in a time now passed. The world could come crashing down around him and he wouldn’t blink an eye. 

Lance shuffles a hair closer, careful and quiet in his approach.

“I haven’t looked at these in years.” Keith’s voice is barely a whisper. An absentminded thought that slips past his lips from the roots of his subconscious. 

He carefully places the ornament aside and picks up another, running gentle fingers over its face. 

On quiet feet, Lance steps up beside him and gently sits down. He peers at the ornament in Keith’s hand. 

It’s a simple styrofoam circle, just barely larger than the palm of his hand, hanging from a thin piece of string. A tiny yellow handprint is slapped in the center. Keith’s name is scratched out in messy green crayon just below it. And off to the side, written in fine pen, ‘ _Keith’s first handmade ornament, 2001.’_

“My pop was always big on making ornaments ourselves.” Keith passes it to Lance, and he takes it with careful hands. “We made new ones every year, using whatever materials we could find lying around the house.” 

Keith picks up a new ornament from the box, this one absolutely _buried_ in plastic beads, dry macaroni shells, and a mountain of glitter. He scrunches his face as he holds it up, but that fond smile is still there just the same. “Clearly I wasn’t the most, ah, _artistic_ child out there.” 

Lance huffs a short laugh and Keith’s smile widens a fraction. 

“He always told me these were his favorite ornaments. Said the more creativity that went into them, the more special they were.” 

Lance gently puts aside the first ornament as Keith passes him the macaroni masterpiece. Lance chuckles as his eyes absorb the absolute catastrophe in his hands. “I guess you were feeling pretty special this day then, huh?” 

Keith laughs softly, absently nodding his head. “Guess so.”

Lance runs his fingers along the rough surface. He imagines little toddler Keith, covered in glue and glitter, making a mess at the kitchen table. He pictures how he might’ve smiled, with little gaps where lost baby teeth used to be, all bright and unbidden whenever his pop made him laugh. He imagines how his pop might’ve teased him, picking stray macaroni shells out of Keith’s mop of hair before piling them onto the ornament with the rest. 

Warmth spreads through his veins at the thought, an odd contrast against the heavy weight that grows in his chest. 

His eyes flicker to the corner of the ornament, the only sliver he can find that isn’t completely covered in macaroni. He barely manages to make out the little ‘ _2004’_ scratched against the base. Same pen. Same fine handwriting.

“This is the last one I got to make with him.”

Lance’s heart lurches in his chest. His eyes slide over to Keith, whose gaze rests wistfully on the ornament in Lance’s hands. 

“Oh, _Keith.”_

He looks up at the sound, eyes locking with Lance’s. He stares into his eyes for just a moment before he tenses, eyes widening at whatever pitiful expression is screwing up Lance’s face. “Oh, um—I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to like, completely kill the mood.” His gaze drops to the couch as he turns his head away, scratching a nervous hand behind his neck. “I just started rambling about this and I shouldn’t have. I’m really sorry, I wasn’t thinking and—”

Lance shakes his head, small and quick. “No—”

“—totally just put a huge damper on the day—”

“ _No!”_

“—probably made you uncomfortable and I—”

“No, Keith, _listen!”_ Lance grabs his wrist, giving it a quick shake. “I’m glad you showed me,” he insists, firm but gentle.

Keith’s eyes finally lift to meet his. He shifts his grip against Keith’s wrist, sliding his hand down and intertwining their fingers together. A soft smile curls at his lips. “I like hearing about your past. And… your dad. He sounds like a great man.”

A beat passes. Keith takes in a deep breath, and Lance gives his hand a soft squeeze. Keith squeezes back. It’s weak, but the sentiment is loud and clear. When he releases the exhale, his gaze softens. “He was. He was the greatest man I knew.”

Lance gives him a small smile, two parts fond and one part teasing. “And _you._ You sound like you were an adorable little spitfire.”

Keith laughs, a small thing that doesn’t quite meet his eyes. “I was.” He tilts his head, squinting his eyes. “Although, I’m not so sure about _adorable.”_

“Oh, please, Keith. You _totally_ were.” Lance holds up the macaroni ornament and gives it a little shake. “ _This_ is the kind of precious thing that can only be made by an _incredibly adorable child.”_

Keith laughs more genuinely this time, and the heavy grip around Lance’s heart releases. The melancholy aura lifts just slightly, but Lance takes it and runs with it, slowly but surely coaxing Keith back into himself. 

He teases. He jokes. He pokes and prods playfully. 

And with each laugh he pulls from Keith's chest, the shadows in those beautiful midnight eyes grow lighter and lighter until they’ve vanished entirely.

The rest of the night carries on much in the same fashion. Teasing. Playful. Fond.

They slowly pick their way through the box, taking turns hanging ornaments on the tree. Keith tells Lance stories and meanings behind each and every one, and Lance soaks it all up. Reels himself in to just _listen_ and let Keith relive his childhood and fondest memories with him. He provides commentary here and there, teasing Keith about his little toddler self if only for the sake of keeping that smile on Keith’s face.

It’s comfortable. It’s companionable.

And Lance learns a bit more about Keith’s past with each passing second. Sees a side to Keith that nobody else gets to see. A little piece of himself that nobody else knows. 

Christmas is still several days away. Lance hasn’t opened any of his presents. Hasn’t got a clue what kind of amazing gifts he will receive Christmas morning when he wakes up. 

But it doesn’t matter. 

He steals a glance over his shoulder, soaking in every detail as Keith gently places the last ornament on the tree.

He already knows this is the best gift of them all.

* * *

So, here’s the thing about the McClain family.

They’re _loud._

Like _really_ loud.

Now, objectively, Keith knows this. He’s stayed over at the McClain household enough times to have experienced it first hand. Over his countless visits, he’d say he’s gotten plenty more than an earful. 

But he thinks that by now he’s managed to build up somewhat of a tolerance to their, ah… _intensity._

Take Marco, for example. Keith’s gotten quite good at hearing over Marco’s giant roar of a laugh. And Tía Sofia. He’s even better at tuning out Tía Sofia’s boisterous stories that she unfortunately recites at every family gathering. And don’t even get him started on Veronica. 

Oh man, _Veronica_. She’s a nightmare, that one. Always hovering _right_ in his ear, teasing and taunting him about anything and everything that has to do with Lance. Keith doesn’t even know where she _comes from._ One moment he’s alone, and the next she just _appears_ with some snarky remark on her tongue and a suggestive glint in her eye. 

She’s like the annoying big sister he never asked for. It’s insufferable. 

And the worst part is, Acxa doesn’t even help him, the little traitor. Just stands to the side with an innocent smile on her lips. He can’t believe the nerve. The audacity. The _betrayal_ —

Where was he?

Oh, yeah. Veronica. Keith’s certainly gotten great at tuning out Veronica. Become an expert at ignoring and avoiding each and every unwelcome taunt that leaves her mouth. 

So, yeah. He’d say he’s pretty good at dealing with the noise. The worst of it at least.

But despite all this. No matter how much he’s learned. No matter how much of a tolerance he’s built. 

Nothing could have prepared him for the McClain family at Christmas. 

_“MAMÁ! MAMÁ!_ Sylvio stole my crayons! Make him give them back! _Mamá!”_

“No I didn’t! Mamá, she’s lying! Tell her to stop digging through my stuff!”

The two toddlers come running into the kitchen, Sylvio hot on Nadia’s heels as they make a beeline for their mother who’s pulling the last batch of cookies out of the oven. Marco stumbles in right behind them, frantically trying to snatch them off their little legs and yelling something about kitchen safety. The cookie tray clatters to the countertop right as Naida barrels into her mother’s legs, Sylvio immediately after. 

Keith barely catches Lance mutter a dry, “Uh oh,” before she snaps.

“ _Nadia! Sylvio! Callate!_ How many times do I have to tell you to stay away from the oven? You could’ve gotten yourselves burned!”

“But—”

“No buts! I’ve told you a million times. Out of the kitchen, both of you, _now!”_

The two children sulk out of the kitchen, their mother hot on their tails as she reprimands her husband for not keeping a closer watch over them. The room is quiet for half a second after they leave. Keith isn’t sure who breaks the silence first because suddenly Lance, Veronica, and Rachel are all talking at once. 

“Oh my god, did you see their faces—”

“Poor Nadia and Sylvio—”

“She took that better than I thought she would—”

“She was surprisingly calm today—”

“Is this some kind of new mojo thing—”

“Maybe she’s been doing yoga—”

“Either that or some crazy calming voodoo shit—”

“Oh my god, do you remember that one time—”

“The look on Nadia’s and Sylvio’s faces—”

“They were so scared, poor things—”

“I’ve never seen her snap that bad—”

“Even Marco was mildly terrified—”

Keith listens to them ramble with half an ear, amused smile spread across his lips as they talk over each other while somehow still understanding each other’s half-finished sentences. 

A strange warmth spreads through Keith’s chest at the sight. 

He didn’t expect to be here today, sharing new holiday memories with the McClain’s. Yet here he is. 

Keith isn’t used to seeing Christmas like this. He’s spent most of his Christmases alone, so he never really developed much appreciation for making Christmas a big family bonding event. The foster homes he lived in as a child didn’t care for him on regular days, much less on holidays. He didn’t exactly have any company in his little shack in the desert after that. And it’s not exactly easy to pinpoint when Christmas is, or hold a celebration for that matter, when you’re busy fighting a universal war in space. 

One way or another, Christmas has always seemed to escape him. 

But now that the war is over, and now that he’s actually found his mom, he figured he’d spend Christmas with her. He’d originally planned to head out into space yesterday, meet up with his mom, Kosmo, and Kolivan, and spend the rest of the week out there with them. Sure, he wouldn’t really get to fully celebrate Christmas out on some random planet, but so what? Christmas isn’t exactly a universal holiday. He gets that. He hasn’t truly celebrated Christmas since he was a little kid anyway, so he would hardly notice a difference. 

Besides, he can only imagine the absolute _nightmare_ it would be trying to explain _Christmas_ to _Kolivan._

Yeah, he’d already made that mistake with Krolia. He’d regretted it immediately the moment she drew her dagger at the mention of Santa Claus sneaking in through people’s chimneys at night. 

So, yeah, they wouldn’t exactly be _celebrating_ Christmas, per se, but at least he’d be spending time with family, and hey, that’s a step in the right direction for Keith. 

Of course, none of that happened the minute Lance got involved. 

The look of pure offended outrage on his face when Keith told him he was leaving Earth for Christmas was enough to make Keith regret his entire life’s choices. Naturally, Lance immediately insisted that Keith spend the holiday with him and his family. But Keith was reluctant to go to the McClain’s out of fear of intruding. 

Christmas is a time to be with family. And Keith is, well, _not family_. 

Lance was having none of it. 

_‘Keith, you’ve already met my entire extended family, like, a million times.’_

_‘No—don’t even try to tell me that they wouldn’t want you there. That’s the worst attempt at a lie I’ve ever seen.’_

_‘Bullshit, you come to every McClain family party anyway. You’re already one of us, so just accept it.’_

_‘Keith Kogane, if you leave this planet on Christmas I will personally fly out to wherever your heathen ass is, and shove my foot so far up it you’ll be eating my toes for dinner!’_

Ah. He certainly has a way with words, doesn’t he?

Keith’s defenses started crumbling the moment the death threats turned into pleading. Lance showed no mercy. He pulled out the big guns. All pouty-lip, watery-eyed, patented Kicked Puppy Face™ and everything.

Lance _knows_ Keith is a sucker for that face. 

What an asshole. 

Despite his efforts, Keith caved after approximately two minutes and eight seconds of Lance’s pleading. 

And so, that’s how Keith finds himself unceremoniously plopped into the McClain household kitchen on Christmas Eve, sugar cookie in one hand, tub of icing in the other because, apparently, _‘Santa won’t come unless you bake him fresh Christmas cookies,_ Keith.’ 

It’s loud. It’s wild. It’s a lot to digest and Keith is sure it’s going to be even crazier tomorrow—what, with all the gift giving, and Christmas caroling, and eggnog drinking. 

But… for some reason, he doesn’t think he’ll mind. 

Three years ago, something like this would have filled him with so much apprehension it would’ve been nauseating. But now, he finds he actually kind of enjoys it. He takes comfort in the familiar faces that surround him. The smiles that greet him with every conversation. 

It’s a nice change of pace. 

He busies himself with smearing green icing across the face of a cookie while Lance and his sisters continue to ramble about their little niece and nephew. Lance is propped up on the counter top beside Keith, his own icing knife and cookie in hand. Veronica is elbow deep in soapy sink water as she scrubs away at the discarded baking tools that the more adulty adults used to make the cookies. Rachel stands next to her, drying the clean dishes with a rag. 

Everyone has their place, and somehow, that includes Keith. 

The conversation comes to an abrupt halt when the doorbell rings. Rachel, having the least messy job and, more importantly, being the last person in the room to touch her finger to the tip of her nose, begrudgingly drops her rag and pads out of the kitchen. 

Only a few seconds pass before her voice rings out over the air. “Veronica, your girlfriend is here!”

Sink abruptly turned off and wiping wet hands on her pants, Veronica hurries out of the kitchen. Lance watches his sister leave and murmurs a teasing comment about her being whipped. Keith snickers softly before turning back to his half-frosted cookie. Lance does the same, both boys working on their respective cookies side by side as they lapse into comfortable silence. 

It’s a nice contrast from the consistent noise that filled the kitchen all morning. 

Well—not that it’s exactly _silence_ , what with the backdrop of voices carrying in from the hallway and living room and everywhere else in the house, but it’s an improvement. He’ll take it.

“I bet I can frost more cookies than you.”

_Aaaaand_ Lance ruins it.

Keith huffs. What is it with Lance needing to turn everything into some kind of rivalry? They’ve gotten over that stage now. They’re _friends._ Keith isn’t going to fall for the bait anymore. 

Keith levels him with a flat expression. “Lance, this isn’t a competition.”

“Uh, yeah it is.” He shoots Keith a cocky smile. Keith hates that it still looks beautiful. “And this, Mullet?” He shakes a fully frosted cookie in the air. “This is me _winning.”_

And—okay, y’know what? Fuck this guy. Pretty smile be damned. He’s going _down._

Keith moves on autopilot, senses tunneling as his hands move of their own accord. He vaguely registers Lance doing the same out of his peripheral vision. He doesn’t dwell on that, though. His only focus is on the task in front of him. 

Cookie. Frost. Next. Cookie. Frost. Next. 

He’s in the Zone™, intent on winning just so he can wipe that dumb smirk off Lance’s face. He’s a machine, cranking out cookie after cookie, and Lance is going _down—_

“Damn, that looks good.”

Keith flinches, leaning his head abruptly away from the voice that’s suddenly speaking _directly into his ear._ The motion causes him to drop his cookie, and his face immediately falls into a frown. 

Goddamn you, Veronica. 

He turns to glare sharply at her, but she simply smiles back at him, unphased and far too amused. Her smile is mischievous. Full on Cheshire cat. Keith’s eyes narrow. 

What is she up to this time?

Lance hasn’t seemed to notice Veronica’s reappearance, too wrapped up in his cookie frosting. Which, coincidentally, is _exactly_ what Keith should be doing. 

Keith busies himself with retrieving and repairing his dropped cookie, fully intent on just _ignoring_ her and whatever nonsense she’s about to pull. He’s pointedly _not_ looking at her, but if she’s deterred by it, she doesn’t let on. She simply sidles closer. 

“Mmmm, it sure does look good, right Keith?” 

Keith has no idea what she’s playing at. The cookie? Yeah, no shit it looks good. The whole family has been slaving over these cookies all morning. He doesn’t know what that has to do with anything—

But that doesn’t _matter_ because he’s _ignoring her._

“I bet you think it looks _really_ good, don’t you Keith?”

…Okay, he’ll admit, that was a little weird. Suspicious, definitely. But Veronica is always suspicious when she’s like this. 

_Ignore._

“I bet you’d think it tastes good, too.”

Okay. He’s about... 95 percent sure she isn’t talking about the cookies anymore. She’s being far too suspicious for it to be that innocent. He knows there’s something suggested in there, he just can’t pinpoint what. 

Despite his best efforts, his eyes lift to meet hers. 

He knows he’s going to regret this, but what else can he be expected to do? She’s persistent and he knows from experience that she won’t go away until she makes her point. She’s insufferable that way. Endearing, but insufferable.

And… maybe he’s a little curious, too. Whatever. Sue him. She’s being weird and he just wants to know _why_ so that she’ll _go away._

When he looks up, her eyes flash with… something. He doesn’t know what exactly, but he knows he doesn’t like it. Her gaze is on him for only a moment before she’s shifting it over his shoulder, staring pointedly at the spot where he knows Lance sits next to him. 

“You agree, right Keith? Looks good, doesn’t it?” Her voice drops an octave as she waggles her eyebrows. “Doesn’t... _he?_ Perhaps good enough to eat, wouldn’t you think so, Keith?”

…

_Nope._

None of that. _NONE OF THAT._

Not today, Satan. Not now. Not ever. And _especially_ not when Lance himself is sitting _right fucking there._

He promptly _shoves_ Veronica and her _stupid smile_ away. Unfortunately for him, she doesn’t go far. Just stumbles a few steps back, quietly laughing. She’s positively _beaming_ as he feels his face heat up like a fire pit. _Ugh._

What did he do to deserve this cruel and unusual punishment?

He crosses his arms over his chest and levels her with a glare. Perhaps he can try to salvage what little of his dignity he has left. Judging by the heat still pouring from his cheeks and the unfazed look on Veronica’s face, he guesses his attempt falls flat. He’s fairly certain he’s pouting by now, but enough damage has been done already that he can’t bring himself to care.

“Don’t you have a girlfriend to entertain? Y’know, to say hello to the family and all that?” 

Keith hears a soft snort, and his gaze shifts to its source. Acxa leans against the kitchen entrance, arms crossed loosely over her chest and amused smile on her lips. 

Keith’s frown deepens. _Traitor._

“He’s right.” Acxa walks into the kitchen and grabs Veronica’s arm, tugging her towards the living room. Veronica puts up half-assed resistance, but lets Acxa drag her away just the same. 

Ugh, _thank you,_ Acxa. Blessed, beautiful, amazing Acxa coming to his rescue. He should have never doubted her. Her heart’s always in the right place. She’s always been a true hero. An icon. His saving grace—

“C’mon, V, you can torment him later.” 

What was that he said about her being his hero?

He takes it back. Oh, _man,_ he takes it _all_ back. The little back-stabbing gremlin. He can’t wait until the Blades regroup after the holidays. He is so going to get his revenge. She’ll see. She has no idea what’s coming for her—

“Ha! Done and _done,_ Keithy boy. That’s how us champions do it. Look who’s the strong, handsome, _winner.”_ Lance is suddenly in Keith’s face, waggling his eyebrows and gesturing to the full tray of entirely frosted cookies. “Read it and weep, Mullet.” 

Keith slides his gaze over to the tray, anything to look away from that _blinding_ smile. Like, seriously, how the fuck is it even _allowed_ to be that goddamn bright?

Keith’s eyes land on the mountain of cookies, and sure enough, about three dozen are frosted red, leaving a remaining lousy one dozen green. Keith glares at the cookies like they personally offended him. 

He blinks, startled, when a red finger cuts through his vision and promptly pokes the tip of his nose. It’s cold and sticky, and it’s only when the finger is pulled away that Keith realizes a dollop of red frosting has been left in its wake. 

Keith levels a glare at Lance, but Lance is unfazed, smile still firmly in place and annoyingly bright. 

“Don’t be such a sourpuss, _Rudolf.”_

Keith rolls his eyes. Why is he friends with this idiot?

Keith makes a show of wiping the frosting off his nose while he subtly scrapes the green frosting off his forgotten knife with his fingers. He fights away the smile that pulls at the corners of his lips and threatens to give him away. 

“I’ll stop being a sourpuss when you stop looking like the _Grinch.”_ Keith quickly swipes his hand at Lance’s face, effectively grazing his cheek and smearing green frosting across it. Lance yelps at the attack and it _really_ shouldn’t be as cute as it is. He gapes at Keith, expression shifting from shock, to amusement, to offense, to vengeance all in a matter of seconds. Each one is complimented nicely by the giant glob of frosting smushed into the side of his face. 

Keith can’t help it anymore. He bursts out laughing. His full body gets into it, shoulders shaking and arms wrapped around his middle.

“Oh, I see how it is, Mullet. Well, two can play at this game, Mr. Heat Miser!” Lance dumps his hand into the tub of red frosting and lunges at Keith. 

Keith tries to dodge, but he’s too busy laughing that he doesn’t see Lance in time. Keith’s fate is hopeless as a large red hand streaks right down the middle of his face, smushing and rubbing frosting all over. 

“ _Gah,_ Lance! Stop, I yield!” Keith tries to shove Lance off him, but his attempts are futile. Despite Keith’s protests, Lance does not stop his attack and declares Keith’s face his new finger painting canvas. Keith is sputtering and laughing underneath the assault, and he thanks Alfor above that this is frosting instead of paint. 

Keith blindly swats at the counter until his hand lands on the abandoned tub of green frosting. He scoops his hand inside and pounces at Lance, retaliating with just as much vigor.

It doesn’t take long before both boys are absolutely _covered_ in frosting—faces, hair, arms, clothes. Both tubs of frosting are completely cleaned out, and they reluctantly decide to call a temporary truce on the frosting war. 

They take approximately two minutes to catch their breath and wipe the worst of the frosting off their faces before Lance is leaping Keith again, truce forgotten and wrestling him into the wall. Lance had the element of surprise on his side, but he won’t have the upper hand for long. 

This is a game of strength. A game of hand-to-hand combat. Keith is a trained warrior and he _excels_ in this area. Keith is far more muscular than the twig that is Lance McClain— sure, he’s a very pretty and toned twig, but a twig nonetheless. 

Keith is nothing but confident in his ability to win. Lance doesn’t stand a chance. 

Keith manages to bully his way out from where Lance has him shoved against the wall. He switches their positions and grabs Lance in a hold. Keith is strong enough to keep him there, no doubt, but it turns out that doesn’t matter when Keith realizes he severely underestimated Lance’s ability to just be _slippery as fuck._ Much to Keith’s dismay, Lance wiggles his way out of Keith’s grip and is immediate with a counterattack. 

It’s a solid attempt on Lance’s part, but Keith is fast. Just as quickly as Lance had escaped, Keith has him in a hold again. It doesn’t matter though. Try as he might, no matter which way he grabs him, Keith just can’t seem to pin him down. Lance is all lank and limbs and how the _fuck_ does he just slip through Keith’s hands like that? 

Keith is starting to realize he’s going to need a new battle strategy when Lance manages to get a grip on his wrists. Lance unceremoniously shoves him up against the kitchen wall, wrists pinned tightly over his head. Keith struggles for a few moments in a feeble attempt to get his arms free, but it’s no use. They’re held far too tightly and awkwardly between the wall and Lance’s death grip. Keith can’t manage to break them loose. 

“Pinned ya.” Lance leans in close. He’s got a cocky as all hell smirk plastered across his face, and Keith will be _damned_ if he’s gonna let this motherfucker win that easily.

Keith tugs his arms sharply downwards, forcing Lance to follow. He bucks his hips at a tilt, throwing Lance off to the side and flipping their positions. Before he can gloat about his escape, however, Lance is pushing against him, using the momentum to switch them around again, placing Keith’s back firmly against the wall like before. 

But then, Keith is doing the same. And then Lance. Then Keith. 

They go around and around, rolling along the length of the kitchen wall, flipping each other over and trying to pin the other down, neither one having much success. 

Keith is fully aware that this is getting neither of them anywhere, and he considers that he should probably find a way to break off from it, but he’s vaguely entertained by the thought of how ridiculous they must look. A small burst of laughter escapes from his lips, and the sentiment is echoed from Lance as they continue rolling along the wall like tumbleweed. 

But then Keith is being flipped around, expecting his back to hit the wall once again. Only the wall isn’t there, and he goes stumbling backwards. 

Lance is there in an instant, wrapping an arm tightly around his waist to keep him from falling. Keith’s thrown off balance, weight shifted too far behind him, and holding entirely onto Lance for support. 

He’s completely at Lance’s mercy. He knows this. And judging by the smirk that creeps across Lance’s face, he’d say Lance does too.

Lance uses Keith’s moment of instability to his advantage. _Jerk._ He shifts to the left and pins Keith up against the side of the kitchen entranceway that he’d fallen through. One hand remains firmly on Keith’s waist, while the other has Keith’s arms locked in place over his head like before. 

“Pinned ya again.”

Keith huffs, not even bothering to put up a fight this time, and lets his muscles go lax in defeat. “I can’t believe you’re quoting _The Lion King_ right now.”

“And _I_ can’t believe you actually got that reference.” Lance pauses, eyes narrowing and lips pursing. “Are you sure you’re the real Keith?”

“Ha ha. You’re hilarious.” 

“Oh, I know. That’s one of the many great qualities about me. Thanks for noticing.” 

For what feels like the billionth time that day, Lance flashes Keith that infuriatingly cocky smile. Then, as if the universe didn’t already taunt him enough, Lance fucking winks. 

It’s in that moment that Keith realizes just how close they are. 

Their faces are mere inches apart and he can feel where all the hard and soft panes of Lance’s body are pressed up against him, keeping him at bay. 

Keith _really_ doesn’t want to think about what kind of implications being pinned up against a fucking wall by your hot kind-of-rival-kind-of-friend-kind-of-crush has. 

So, naturally, that’s exactly what he thinks about.

There goes his heart rate. Rest in fucking pieces, Keith. 

He _really_ needs to stop putting himself in these situations. He’s come to the conclusion that being this close to Lance McClain is just plain bad for his health. 

Yup. There isn’t even a doubt in his mind. He needs to get out. 

He gives an experimental tug against Lance’s grip, but Lance isn’t budging. Keith lets out a long suffering sigh, accepting the fact that he will certainly regret this later. “Okay, you win, you can let me go now.” It comes out far more disgruntled than he hoped it would. 

“Mmmmm, nah, that’s okay, Mullet. I think I’m just gonna bask in my glory for a little longer instead. Y’know, it’s not everyday you get to beat the Great Mighty Mysterious Keith Kogane in combat and actually have him _admit_ you’re a winner.”

Keith rolls his eyes so hard he’s surprised his whole head isn’t rolling too. “That was hardly considered combat, Lance.” He catches a flash of something out of his peripheral vision. Whatever snarky remark he was about to say next dies on his tongue as he glances more firmly upwards to get a better look at the object.

He’s so taken aback at the sight that he doesn’t process when words start pouring out of his mouth. “Is that—”

He freezes. 

Great. Good job, Keith. 

Go ahead and point it out. Just go on and draw attention to it. 

Draw attention to the fact that you’re stuck in a doorway, body pressed up against the only person who makes your heart race at unhealthy levels, while standing underneath fucking—

“ _Mistletoe,”_ Lance whispers, gawking up at the plant like that was the last thing he’d expected to see there, as if he doesn’t fucking _live here._

Lance suddenly pulls away, dropping Keith’s wrists like they burned him. He takes a step back, but doesn’t go far. 

Keith instantly misses the warmth. 

He hates that he does. And he hates that he _notices._

Lance is shifting awkwardly on his feet, lifting a hand and scratching behind his neck in the way that Keith knows he does whenever he’s nervous. 

Great work, Keith. Way to absolutely kill the vibe.

“Yeahhhh, about that, uh,” Lance’s eyes are wandering, looking just about everywhere _but_ at Keith. “It’s a stupid thing my mom insists on doing every year. Y’know, we’re a pretty affectionate family and are all about Christmas spirit and spreading love and joy and that kind of stuff. It’s mostly just for show, y’know we usually just ignore it, and most of the time I forget it’s even _there—”_

“Lance.”

“—none of us expect anybody to actually pay any attention to it—” 

_“Lance.”_

“—sorry if it, like, made you uncomfortable—”

_“Lance!_ Breathe. You’re rambling.” 

His eyes finally snap up to meet Keith’s, words abruptly cutting of as he takes in a much needed gulp of air. His hand drops to hang at his side. A sheepish smile lifts at the corners of his mouth. “Heh, oh yeah... sorry about that. I’ve been told I do that from time to time.” He laughs awkwardly under his breath and peers up at Keith with wide eyes. 

This boy. 

_This fucking boy._

A wave of fondness washes over Keith, absolutely demolishing him. Hits him square in the face, knocking him right the fuck out and sweeping his feet out from under him. Keith’s heart feels like it may just combust any moment now, and he feels a sudden desperate urge to _do something about it._

He doesn’t know what. He doesn’t know how. But he knows he needs to do _something_ before his heart goes supernova. 

He doesn’t know where the courage comes from. 

Maybe it’s from the promise of the mistletoe hanging above them, and knowing that he could hide his actions under a facade of Christmas spirit. 

Maybe it’s from an overwhelming surge of heart after Lance and the rest of the McClain family have shown him so much kindness and love this Christmas season, and maybe Keith just wants to give a little back. 

Or maybe it has nothing to do with either of those things, and has everything to do with the man standing in front of him, staring back at him with those beautiful sky blue eyes and shy smile. Maybe it’s just that Lance is far too cute for Keith’s poor little heart to handle anymore. 

A soft laugh escapes Keith’s lips as he lightly shakes his head. He takes half a step closer to Lance, hand lifting of its own accord. He brushes the back of his knuckles against the bone of Lance’s cheek, and he’s entranced. He feels more than he hears Lance’s breath hitch at the touch.

“I know you do that, Lance.” Keith isn’t even trying to hide the fondness that’s pouring from his voice. He shifts his hand, turning it over to cup Lance’s jaw in his palm.

Then, softer. Gentler. Hardly a whisper. “I think it’s cute.”

And it _is._

Strange mushy feelings aside, Lance has an annoying habit of being incredibly and objectively _cute._ It’s a fact that’s quickly becoming the bane of Keith’s existence. Makes him feel all sorts of things he doesn’t know how to explain, nor how to handle. Makes him act in ways he never would otherwise. 

Like brushing his thumb across Lance’s cheekbone. Or taking another step closer. 

They’re so close that Keith can feel Lance’s breath fanning out across his lips. He can clearly see the faint tinge of red complementing Lance’s tan complexion. Keith shifts his hand, sliding his fingers into the soft locks of hair at the nape of Lance’s neck. He swears he feels Lance shiver under the touch. Maybe it’s just wishful thinking. Then again… fuck it. 

Keith’s never been good at resisting his impulses, so he really shouldn’t be surprised when his brain takes a backseat to his body. He doesn’t process exactly when or why he decides to close the gap. All he knows is that one moment he’s drowning in the ocean of Lance’s eyes, and the next he’s breathing in nothing but Lance, Lance, _Lance._

The kiss is gentle. Chaste. Hesitant so that either one of them could choose to back out before going any further. 

A beat passes. Keith doesn’t pull away. Neither does Lance. That’s all the assurance Keith needs to dive in more firmly, capturing Lance’s lips with his own like Lance is air and Keith’s drowning at sea. 

Lance’s lips are soft against his. Keith isn’t surprised. He imagined they would be. They taste like frosting. Ten guesses why. 

Keith pulls away for a moment, lips hovering mere millimeters away from Lance’s, collecting himself. He studies Lance in the proximity. For once, he doesn’t feel suffocated by the nearness. He simply lets himself bask in it. 

He takes it all in, memorizing every ounce of detail he can, lest he never be able to experience it again. He studies every freckle, every faint streak of green frosting against perfect skin. He takes in every speck of color in those gorgeous eyes, committing them to memory. 

Then Lance’s hands are at his hips and he’s diving back in with renewed vigor. Lance is giving just as good as he gets. He pulls Keith roughly against him, closing the remaining space between them and pressing their bodies flush together. Keith gasps at the sudden motion and Lance seizes the opportunity to lick into Keith’s mouth. 

Lance’s tongue is hot against his. Keith wraps both his arms around Lance’s neck, gripping into Lance’s hair, anchoring himself. He can feel every plane of Lance’s body and it all just feels so _right._ He can’t be bothered to think about the consequences of his actions. Can’t be bothered to worry about what this might mean for their friendship, or for the possibility of something more. 

All he knows is that Lance’s lips are on his. Lance’s tongue is in his mouth and his hands are around his waist and it all just feels so _good._ He’s overwhelmed with the sensation of _Lance._ Unable to think about anything else and—

_“OH MY GOD, STOP MAKING OUT IN THE KITCHEN!”_

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to make this a little longer, maybe add one or two more parts at the end, but I ran out of time over the holidays :(  
> I wanted to get this out before the new year though, so I'm uploading it now. There's a good chance I'll come back to edit this in a few weeks or so to add a more sound ending. But until then, I hope you enjoyed reading! 
> 
> Please feel free to leave your thoughts in the comments! Constructive criticism is welcome!


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